


In The Company Of Thieves

by elynne



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Backstory, Character Development, Exploration, F/M, Gen, Kinky sex, Romance M/F, Thieves Guild, ambiguous consent, dragon slaying, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynne/pseuds/elynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dovahkiin convinces Brynjolf to leave Riften on what she calls a "working vacation"--a tour of their interests through the holds of the north. But she's been dodging her duties as the savior of Skyrim, and when destiny catches up to her, Brynjolf is in for more of an adventure than he'd bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gold, Blood, and Vengeance

**Author's Note:**

> notes 3/27/13:  
> A work in progress, inspired by the mod that lets my Dovahkiin have Brynjolf as a follower. Changed overall story rating to "explicit," as there will be explicit content in the (fairly near) future. Also added tags for planned future content. ***PLEASE REVIEW TAGS FOR TRIGGER WARNINGS.*** Chapters with potential triggery content will also have trigger warnings posted in notes at the beginning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebuilding the thieves' guild in Skyrim takes a lot of legwork, and a proactive approach to future potential problems.

Two sets of eyes, one as green as the surrounding grass, the other as pale silver as the moonlight above, stared from the shadow of an overhanging turf ledge at a bedraggled, sprawling stone keep. A few wooden platforms could be glimpsed, but from their vantage point in the low hills and open fields on the far edges of Whiterun's territory, the pair could not be certain if there was movement along the top of the keep's outer walls.

"I smell smoke." A black tail lashed in the darkness, occasionally thumping against the back of the other figure's legs. "If there are no bandits, then they have left only recently."

"I agree, Narja--highwaymen that refuse to ally with the Guild are bad for our business." The second voice was deeper, with a gently lilting accent that contrasted the first speaker's rough sibilants. "But you're a thane in Whiterun, aren't you? I'm sure you could get the Jarl to send out a squad of guards to clear the nest out. No need for us to dirty our hands here, lass." He leaned back, shaking his head. "You know what they say--curiosity killed the Khajiit."

"In my homeland, we have a different saying." The silver eyes glanced sideways at her companion. "It translates roughly as... follow your whiskers, but mind your tail."

The male voice stifled a laugh with a quiet snort. "It seems I've been minding your tail quite a bit since you convinced me to leave Riften with you."

"Yes, and this one appreciates the diligence with which you have done so." There was a definite smirk in the Khajiit's voice as she slid out of the shadow and drew her bow from its harness on her back. "I also suspect that you do not mind following my whiskers as much as you may protest."

There was a quiet sigh as the second black-clad figure emerged, a long blade gleaming in either hand. "I can't argue with results, lass. Your whiskers haven't led us wrong yet."

"Then trust your guild master, Brynjolf." White teeth flashed in a feral grin in the darkness under her hood. "We will eliminate some competition, make the roads a little more safe for transporting our own merchandise, and have our pick of somebody else's spoils."

Slipping between pools of shadows, they cautiously investigated a half-collapsed tower on one corner of the keep's enclosed yard. The Khajiit led the way, climbing up a small pile of rubble and sliding through a breach in the keep's outer wall with precise, tiny movements. On the wooden walkway, it was easy for them to hear the patrolling bandits, who were clearly bored with their jobs. Even so, Narja barely had time to set her feet on the keep's cobblestone courtyard before an alert was sounded.

The bandit who'd spotted her yelled and charged, raising a war hammer over her head with both hands. Narja didn't waste time cursing. She pulled a vial from an easily-reached pocket, kept there for just such emergencies, and drank the contents in one gulp. The faint moonlight around her shimmered as if through a ripple of water. The bandit slowed, lowering her hammer as she peered into the darkness, but the Khajiit had already darted away. In the precious seconds before the potion wore off, she nestled herself under a wooden walkway, nocked an arrow to her bow, and sighted on the bandit she'd just escaped.

"You fight like a child!" The taunt was accompanied by the sound of an arrow flashing past over her head, then impacting squarely in the chest of an archer that she hadn't seen standing on the parapet directly opposite her hiding position. The bandit with the hammer looked up at Brynjolf's hiding position, but before she could point him out to her companions, Narja's arrow silenced her permanently.

It seemed that only a few more busy moments passed before silence fell in the courtyard once again. Narja held still a while longer, her ears pricked and pupils wide as she carefully inspected every shadow between the makeshift forge and stables in the yard. Satisfied that the threat had passed, she emerged from her hiding place and moved a few paces towards the bandits' corpses.

"You'll make a fine rug, cat." The Khajiit flung herself to the ground, knowing her mistake in leaving her safe retreat too early would probably cost her life. The voice had come from behind her hiding place, an archer who had arrived too late to save her companions but intended to make sure at least one of the intruders went down with them. She'd had plenty of time to set herself up in a protected location, as Narja had earlier. Sprawled on the blood-spattered cobbles, she flinched as she heard the whistle of an arrow, wondering where it would hit. Rather than the burst of pain she'd been expecting, there was a grunt behind her, and then the sound of a collapsing body.

Narja raised her head and blinked as Brynjolf hopped down from the wall wearing a wide, cocky grin. "And that's why I'm the best," he said, offering his hand to her with a flourish. She couldn't help chuckling as she accepted his assistance to stand. 

The first door Narja opened to enter the keep turned out to be an entrance to the prison wing of the derelict fort. Immediately inside a large, round room, a steel cage contained the corpse of a blond Nord man. Narja could hear one of the bandits patrolling the stairs, and with hardly a pause to grab an unattended coin purse, she glided to the archway and drew a bead on the back of the man's head. One slow breath in, one slow breath out... the arrow flew true, directly into the join of his neck and skull, killing him instantly and silently.

The Khajiit's ears perked as she listened for an alarm. When there was none, she turned back to check her companion's position, and was surprised to find him standing at the cage door, clutching the bars in white-knuckled hands.

"Brynjolf?" she whispered as she moved up to him. When he didn't answer, she turned to look at the dead man in the cell. Even with months of practice, Narja still had difficulty telling humans apart without obvious hints like hair or skin color. Even so, it only took a few seconds of scrutiny for her fur to stand on end. The cheekbones, the nose, the brow... despite the difference in hair color and the discolorations of the last beating he'd taken before his death, the resemblance was obvious. "Brynjolf... who is he?"

"My brother." His soft voice was strained, as if the words were being forced from his throat. "I haven't seen him in... oh, Hafyr."

Narja gently pushed him aside, and in a few clicks had opened the simple lock. "Take what time you need. I will stand guard." She squeezed his arm, then moved back to the archway at the far end of the room and took up a position where she could watch both the outside door and the stairs from below.

At the edge of her vision, she saw Brynjolf kneel and gather the ruined body in his arms. There was some quiet murmuring, then silence. Narja was looking down the hallway when she felt her companion approach her again. "Let's go." She turned her head to reply, but he was already gliding down the stairs with both swords drawn and a grim expression.

In the brief time they'd been fighting together, the Khajiit and the Norseman had quickly discovered tactics that favored their individual strengths. Narja usually took the lead, using her innate advantages of powerful night vision and uncanny flexibility to identify enemies and disarm traps in their path. When she found their opponents completely unaware, she was often able to eliminate one target with her first arrow. If there was more than one, Brynjolf might make another shot over her head, cutting down two enemies with one well-coordinated strike. More frequently, he would drift past as she reloaded her bow, his Nightingale armor blending with the shadows as he struck down their confused victims. Narja covered his melee assaults with a few carefully aimed arrows, protecting him from archers, mages, and others that might try to flank and corner him. From that vantage, she had admired the flowing grace of his fighting style, body and blades whirling in a deadly dance.

That grace was completely absent now. Hurrying to catch up with her companion, Narja heard him snarling as he hacked at the bandits, oblivious of her assistance or the wounds he took in return. Fortunately, the outlaws seemed completely bewildered by the sudden ferocity of his assaults, unable to make more than a few weak jabs at him before he cut them down. 

Soon they stood at the end of the blessedly short hallway, over the corpses of the last few bandits. Brynjolf stared blankly at the bodies, then twitched when Narja touched his arm to cast a healing spell. "There's more of them, in the main keep," he said, wiping his blades on the limp forms. "I want to..." He trailed off, staring at his swords.

"You hunger for vengeance, and you will have it, my friend." Narja pushed the cowl of her armor back and tugged at his arm until he met her eyes. "But first, let us release the other prisoners from their cages, and perform whatever rites we can for your brother. And please, when we confront the rest of this band, keep your wits about you, yes? Dying recklessly here would be--hmm, distasteful."

She was relieved when Brynjolf took a deep breath and nodded, pulling off his own hood and letting his red hair spill out in the torchlight. "You're right, lass. Our lives are worth far more than these bastards could ever pay. My brother..." He winced. "We can hardly carry him back to Whiterun, but I can at least take him outside, and make something like a cairn for him. Not until we've cleared the two-legged skeevers out of this ruin, though." He looked at her, and a little tension went out of her to see a shadow of a smile. "It'd be ironic if they killed us while we were burying him, but I can give that irony a miss today, I think."

Narja blinked at him. "Irony? Some kind of weapon?" Her ears twitched as Brynjolf snorted with laughter, but she had to smile too, even knowing the joke was on her.

"I'll explain later, over some mead. And lass--Narja--thank you." He gripped her shoulder for a minute, hesitating slightly as if he wanted to make some other gesture, but then dropped his hand and stepped back. "I'll unlock the doors on this side, you take the others."

They both knew that opening the doors of the cells was purely symbolic, as all the prisoners were dead. Narja felt her fury rising with each pitiful, abused body. By the time they were done, standing at the foot of the stairs, they only needed to share a glance to know that both were more than ready to finish the job of annihilating the bandits. Hoods up, weapons drawn, they returned to the shadows.


	2. New Roots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dragonborn accepts responsibility for someone less fortunate, much to Brynjolf's surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Very vague and oblique references to kidnapping, assault, and related trauma.

At a lonely crossroads on Whiterun's open hills, three figures watched the remnants of a ruined keep burn in the early morning light.

"Better a pyre than a cairn," Brynjolf said, his expression grim. A medallion of Hircine that he'd found in a bandit's chest dangled from his hand. He had no way of knowing if it had belonged to his brother, but he knew Hafyr would have carried one. As he stared at the fire, he dropped the cord around his neck and tucked the emblem inside his armor.

Narja only nodded in response. The revelations of depravity she'd seen in the bandit's fort had shocked and depressed her. She tried to take some comfort in the knowledge that they'd ended the band's predations, but she couldn't shake the feeling that there were plenty more out there, just as awful. When Thrynn had told the story of his past bandit days, she'd hoped that the murderous tendencies of the gang's former leader had been an exception, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that it was standard procedure for highwaymen. She'd been attacked while traveling alone around Skyrim several times, but other than sneering at the ones that were too stupid to be scared off, she hadn't given it much more thought.

"I'm glad we did this, lass." Twitching her ears, Narja looked at Brynjolf curiously. "I'd rather have been able to see my brother alive, but since that wasn't what the gods had in store, it's enough that I was given the chance to avenge his death. And we were at least able to rescue one person from those bastards."

The third figure huddled between them sighed heavily. "I'll never be able to get the smoke stains out of there." She looked up with an imploring expression. "Can I go back now? Verd is going to be so angry when he sees the mess, and if I'm not there cleaning it, he'll..." She trailed off and shuddered. Narja had no idea which bandit "Verd" had been. Given the poor woman's confused state, it was possible that there hadn't been a "Verd" in the band for years.

"It's not time to go back yet, er... my lady," Brynjolf said, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We need you to come with us to Whiterun, to--get supplies. Verd said it was all right for you to go with us." The elderly woman didn't respond, and he gave Narja a helpless glance.

"What is your name, friend?" Narja asked, taking the woman by the hand and pulling her into a slow walk down the road, away from the burning keep.

"I'm just old Agnis," she said, but she smiled a little at Narja. "I do whatever it is they ask of me. I'm part of that keep, one of its stones."

"Where did you live before, Agnis?" She was glad to see Brynjolf slip into the underbrush on the road in front of them. Keeping the old woman distracted and moving would take too much of her attention to also watch for any other attackers. "Did you live in Whiterun before? Or perhaps Rorikstead?"

"I... I don't know." Agnis hesitated, looking back over her shoulder. "I really should get back..."

"Do you have a brother?" Narja said, tugging at her hand. Reluctantly, the Nord woman allowed herself to continue being led down the road. "A sister? It may be that we can help you find them."

"I have--a sister. Tofiya. She was... we went out and harvested the wheat together. But then the men came... we tried to run home, but they caught us." Agnis fell silent. Unable to think of anything to say, Narja squeezed the old woman's hand. "I don't... I don't have any family any more. They're all gone. That fort is all I have. Please, can I go back?" She looked up, and Narja was surprised and a little disturbed to see tears in her eyes. "I don't like it out here. It's so windy, and big..."

"We will be inside soon, and you will have new friends. I promise you, Agnis... I will take you to a safe, warm place, where you will not be beaten."

"But I have work to do, they need me." Agnis looked back over her shoulder and tugged at Narja's hand fretfully.

"The person I am taking you to meet needs you more." When the old woman looked back, Narja nodded at her. "She has told me that she needs a new housekeeper. She has--mounds of laundry, a room full of dishes, spiderwebs everywhere, and she cannot clean it all herself. When I met you, I thought that you would be just right for the job."

"How did her house get so filthy?" Agnis said with a hint of suspicion.

"She spends all her time taking care of sick friends." Narja looked up, but it seemed that the walls of Whiterun were still leagues away. "You will see that what I speak to you is truth. If I lie, you may hit me with a broom, and I will carry you back to your keep on my back."

"Oh, you Khajiit," the Nord woman laughed. "You tell such stories! But your people have always been... kind to me."

"Ah, so you like stories?" Narja asked. Before the other woman could answer, she launched into a tale from her homeland. She was no bard, and the half-remembered story quickly became jumbled up with others she'd heard in the past, but she was able to keep Agnis engaged and distracted until they reached the city gates. By that time Brynjolf had reappeared, walking on Agnis' other side as if he'd been there all along, providing prompts for Narja's story and laughing in all the right places.

The gates stood open on Whiterun's bustling midafternoon street. Agnis trailed off and began backing away. Narja held her hands, speaking to her soothingly, but it was obvious that the old woman was at the limits of her ability to cope with novelty. Looking around, Narja spotted a guard watching the scene with detached curiosity, and beckoned him over. Noticing what she was doing, Brynjolf took over the job of trying to reassure Agnis, putting his arm around her and leading her a little ways away from the gate towards a sheltered corner of the city's outer walls, where she seemed to settle down somewhat.

"This woman is very sick, and needs help immediately." Narja pressed a few gold coins into the guard's hand. "Please hurry to Danicia Pure-Spring, in the temple of Kynareth. Tell her there is someone here in urgent need." The guard looked at the coins. Remembering what she'd learned of the art of bribery in the streets of Riften, she hastened to add, "For her convenience and speed." He nodded and trotted up the street, relieved at the explanation that he was not taking a bribe of any sort, while being given the freedom to skim a couple of coins for himself.

Whether because of the gold or the guard's words, the priestess was there in a handful of minutes, somewhat out of breath. As she approached, she made a gesture in the air, then took Agnis' hands and spoke a few words to her quietly. The older woman straightened up with a bemused, happy expression, and Danicia began to lead her through the city. "We must get her to the temple quickly, the spell will not last long," she said to Narja and Brynjolf. With the two Nightingales clearing a path and fending off curious citizens, they were able to make their way to the temple with surprising speed.

"I will have Acolyte Jenssen settle her," Danicia said, leading Agnis to a side room. "You two, wait out here."

"She may be soothed by housework," Narja suggested. The priestess gave her a strange look before closing the door.

"Uh... did you have a plan at this point, lass?" Brynjolf ran a hand through his red hair, looking around the quiet, brightly lit temple. "Or should we make a break for it while we've got the chance?"

"I do have a plan, in fact," Narja said, whiskers twitching, just as Danicia reappeared, closing the door behind her on a man sitting with Agnis and murmuring to her.

"I am glad to hear that," the priestess said as she walked up to the pair. She looked at Brynjolf curiously, then turned her attention back to Narja. "I owe you a favor for bringing me the Gildergreen sapling, and I am glad to provide aid to someone who clearly needs it. But I cannot keep her in the temple as a prisoner, and healing her mind will take time. Who is she, and where did you bring her from?"

Narja gave as much history as she knew. Danicia nodded, then sighed deeply. "I've dealt with tales such as this before--too many, since this terrible war started. It is unlikely any of her family survives to remember her, even if we could locate the farm where she grew up--it could be anywhere in Skyrim. She can stay in the temple for a while, but I simply don't have the resources to let her live here very long."

"I was thinking that she may be able to stay at Dragonsreach instead," Narja replied.

"The palace?" Danicia stared, wide-eyed. "I know you're a thane of Whiterun, but I don't think even you have enough prestige to make them take her as a guest!"

"Then it is good I did not think to do so. Do you know Fianna or Gerda?"

The priestess thought for a minute, then smiled slowly. "Ah... the Jarl's housekeepers?"

"She would be in a keep, which I think would help her feel more comfortable." Narja held up fingers as she made her points. "I also think she will be happy to be cleaning--it is the job she is used to doing. I believe that Fianna and Gerda are good people who will help her adjust, especially once they see what a hard worker she is. And I am certain that I have enough influence with the Jarl to convince him to take on another servant, especially when I offer to pay her wages for a few months in advance." From the corner of her eye, she saw Brynjolf's startled expression at freely offering so much of her own gold.

Danicia, meanwhile, was nodding with increasing enthusiasm. "That would be perfect!" she said, clasping her hands and smiling. "You're exactly right--for people who have experienced such trauma as Agnis, providing her with a situation similar to what she's accustomed to will give her the best possible roots for future healthy growth. What a clever solution! And so generous!"

Narja was fervently glad of her grey-black fur as she felt her cheeks flushing, acutely aware of Brynjolf's approving half-smile. "Thank you, blessed one. I know you will not accept payment for your services, but I will make arrangements with the merchants to make sure your temple is well provided for some time. And if Agnis is willing, she may be able to help you with simple chores here as well."

"Yes, I believe that can be a helpful part of her healing process." Beaming, Danicia clasped Narja's hand. "Thank you again, Dragonborn. May Kynareth's soft rains fall before you."

Stammering thanks and farewells, Narja made her escape from the temple. As the door closed behind them, Brynjolf smirked and nudged her arm. "I had no idea my guild leader would turn out to be such a generous soul. I hope you don't give away all our spoils to every beggar in Tamriel."

The Khajiit snorted and turned away to begin climbing the steps to Dragonsreach. "What I spend with one hand comes back to the other, all in good time," she said. "Besides, a year's wages for a maid will hardly lighten my purse, and I suspect we will find plenty more along the road to Markarth."

"Fair enough, lass." Brynjolf was silent until they arrived at the top of the stairs, where he paused. "Uh... I'll go back to that inn we passed, and get us a table and some mead."

Narja's whiskers twitched with amusement. "Does the sight of so many guards disturb you?"

"Actually, I'm allergic to people in positions of high authority," Brynjolf said with a grin. "They make me break out in stealing everything I can get my hands on." They both laughed, then he turned and jogged back down the steps. Narja watched him go, still smiling, then shook her head and entered the palace to make arrangements for Agnis' future.


	3. Mead and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During a relaxing evening at the Bannered Mare, Brynjolf tells a story from his past.

True to his word, Brynjolf had a table and mugs of mead waiting when Narja entered the Bannered Mare. Smiling at him, she set her pack and weapons down next to his and flopped into the empty chair. 

"How'd it go up at the Palace, lass?"

"Perfect." The Khajiit paused for a long drink of mead. "The steward was very agreeable, and the other maids are willing to give her a chance, after I explained that Agnis is no farmer's flighty daughter. A maid's wages at the Palace are a bit more than I had expected," she added with a comical grimace as she patted her coin purse. "Between that and arranging supplies for the temple, I believe this one has spent every gold piece acquired in that accursed bandits' nest, and a little more besides."

"Then it's a good thing I held on to my share," Brynjolf said, entirely failing to refrain from smirking. The inn's bard chose that moment to launch into a spirited version of "Ragnar the Red," and Brynjolf felt his good humor slipping into annoyance. That particular song had haunted him for most of his life, and it seemed that everywhere he went, bards just loved playing it.

Seeing her companion's discomfort, and guessing at the reason, Narja grabbed the first subject she could think of. "So, your brother was a hunter?" She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

"Uh... yes, he was." Finishing his mug, Brynjolf refilled it from the bottle on their table. "We all were. I was raised tramping around in the wilderness."

"That is difficult to imagine," Narja said. "You seem much more at home in cities."

"I still remember when I first walked into Riften." Brynjolf leaned back and chuckled. "I thought it was--well, I reacted much the same as Agnis did to her first sight of Whiterun. It was overwhelming. My family needed some supplies, and my mother had taken me with her to help carry the baggage out to our camp. She was tense and worried the whole time. I thought it was paradise."

Leaning back in her own chair, Narja listened and watched, trying not to stare at her fellow Nightingale too obviously. His hair shone a rich copper hue in the firelight, a color as unusual among Khajiit as it was in humans, and she was fascinated at the way the movement of flames seemed to make the highlights dance in response.

"My mother boxed my ears constantly while we were in town, until I thought they would fall off," Brynjolf continued, unaware of his companion's inspection. "I wanted to look at everything, talk to everyone. I was--I'd guess, about twelve years old. Would you believe I'd never seen a gold septim before in my life?"

Narja blinked, ears twitching. "Never? How did your family live?"

"They traded for everything from travelers and merchants. I think they just didn't bother with using coins, or if they did there was so little of it that I never caught a glimpse. I was so poor that I had no idea of just how poor I was... until that day I walked into Riften."

Brynjolf half-smiled at the memory, staring off into the distance of his own past. "I had some animal skins for clothes, a small sword that had been sharpened down to a hand knife, a bow I'd made myself, and not much else. The most expensive thing I'd ever wanted before that was a really sturdy bow. I learned greed that day, avarice, envy. I wanted it all. The beautiful clothes, jewelry, shoes--amazing weapons and armor, food I'd never seen or smelled before... but more than anything, I wanted to stay there, learn all about everything, become a part of it. I felt like I'd come home."

"Did you? Stay, that is?"

"Not that day," Brynjolf replied. "My mother dragged me out of the city by the scruff of my neck and back to the camp, and then she and my father proceeded to give me the hiding of my life. Now that I think back on it, I'm not sure if they ever actually said what it was that they were so upset about, but I got the message--they'd rather see me dead in the wilderness than become a soft, helpless city boy."

Narja couldn't help flattening her ears, tail bristling and twitching at the image of Brynjolf being beaten, even though it had happened years ago and he seemed perfectly nonchalant about it now. In the clan her family had belonged to, giving a child so much as a cuff upside the head would attract the admonition of the Clan Mother. That humans so often treated their own children with such casual violence never failed to shock her.

"Of course, after that there was no way they could keep me out of the city," he said. "I didn't leave right away. I knew what kind of things they traded--teeth, fur, that kind of thing--so I made some little stashes of my own, without letting them know. I also built up a good cache of food and plenty of arrows. I had no idea what to expect in the city, but I wanted to be prepared." Shaking his head, he grinned at Narja. "So when I finally did leave my family and go back to Riften, you can imagine how quickly I was fleeced to the skin.

"I was lucky that Mercer picked me up. He was just starting out his own career. He rescued me from some dog trainer who was going to use me as bait, cleaned me up, and gave me my first lessons in city survival. I was already excellent at sneaking. Once I added pickpocketing and lockpicking to my skills, the rest, as they say, was history."

He leaned back, taking another drink, then put his mug on the table and smiled at Narja. She smiled back, and there was a long, comfortable silence between them. Then the bard started singing again. "Let me tell you the story of how I was introduced to thieving," Narja said over the noise, and Brynjolf nodded enthusiastic agreement.

The mead became a bottle of wine and later transformed into a second, more expensive bottle. They traded childhood memories, then exchanged stories of their first incarcerations, which somehow led to comparing scars, that involved removing their armor and then articles of clothing until the innkeeper informed them that if they intended to keep up such behavior, they'd need to rent a room or go somewhere else.

"We'll take a room!" Brynjolf said, at the same time Narja replied, "I have a house in town..." There was an awkward silence as they looked at each other and the innkeeper crossed her arms. "I'll just take a room, then," the Nord said, opening his coin purse and avoiding catching his companion's eyes. 

"Then I will go and sleep... elsewhere," Narja said, standing up with an attempt at dignity only slightly marred by having to hold the wall for balance. "Meet me at the Khajiit caravan outside the city in the morning. Walk with the shadows." She left the taproom with a slight wobble, but without a backwards glance.

"Damn," Brynjolf said under his breath as he watched her leave. He sighed and poured the last of the wine into his mug.

"Troubles with a lady, my friend?" Scowling, Brynjolf looked up to see the bard smirking down at him. "I'm quite well known for my aptitude in that area, if you'd like a few pointers."

The bard really should have been more suspicious of the sudden change in the intoxicated patron's demeanor. "Ah, my friend! Yes, that would be most welcome! Please, let me buy you a drink, and do tell me all about what you know." Brynjolf clapped the bard heartily on the back as he sat down in the chair Narja had vacated and grinned. He couldn't have asked for a better distraction to raise his spirits.


	4. The Hangover Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the savior of Tamriel isn't immune from the effects of overindulgence.

Narja woke up to a beam of sunlight shining straight onto her face, a realization that she hadn't specified when exactly Brynjolf was supposed to meet her, and a pounding hangover. She lay limply in the bed, listening to Lydia bustling around the little house. She'd at least been coherent enough to ask her housecarl to prepare a breakfast and some travel rations when she came home from the taproom last night. The smell of sizzling horker meat that would normally make her mouth water was instead making her stomach heave.

The Khajiit gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and called on what little magic she had at her command. Her people were notorious for having difficulty with arcane work, and Narja was no exception. She was barely proficient enough to make a small flame spout from her hands, summon a ball of light, and do some basic healing. It was the healing magic that she needed now.

For some reason, the spell was easier for her to weave in the thick of battle. Probably because, as one despairing Altmer tutor had said, she couldn't stop thinking about it--trying to pick it apart, to understand it. The saying "Curiosity killed the Khajiit" had many sources, after all.

Eventually she was able to make the forces align, or whatever it was that made the stupid thing work, and it worked--at least enough to take the edge off her hangover and ensure that she would be able to eat breakfast. Narja took a minute to congratulate herself, then sighed and got out of the bed, pouring a basin of water for her morning wash. She usually warmed the water with a spell at this point, but she knew that it would be a while before she'd be able to cast anything else. As she lathered her hands with the tiny cake of her personal soap and soaked a towel in the cold water, she amused herself with the idea of using the dragon words for fire breath to warm the water. Of course, that would likely end with a hole in her wall and the guards dousing every building in the neighborhood.

After her icy wash, Narja donned her armor with practiced efficiency and headed downstairs. As usual, her housecarl tried to make conversation as they broke their fast together, and as usual, their conversation ended up stilted and awkward. Lydia seemed like quite a nice person, but Narja just couldn't shake the idea that Lydia was some kind of law enforcer. It felt like having a city guard as a housemate. Narja couldn't talk about her activities with the thieves' guild, which was the subject she cared most about, and she had no interest in the political machinations of the various jarls of Skyrim, a subject of great interest to the Norsewoman. Even trying to talk about the whole Dragonborn business was difficult, as there was so much of it that the Khajiit simply couldn't explain. Lydia did enjoy graphic descriptions of Narja's fights, but that left her feeling like a nursemaid telling stories to an attentive kitten.

With the morning meal over, Narja shouldered her bags, wished Lydia a good day, and headed down Whiterun's main street to the gate. The guards nodded deferentially to her as she passed. It wasn't as late in the morning as she had feared, and her mood lifted somewhat at the thought of casually informing Brynjolf that she'd made it to the caravan at the first glimmer of dawn, secure in the knowledge that her fellow Khajiit would back her story.

Like the grey clouds that were gathering in the morning sky, her mood darkened as she approached the Khajiit's campsite, where a she could easily hear a familiar voice engaged in cheerful banter.

"Ah, Narja!" Brynjolf waved his arm, as if there was any chance of her failing to notice him. "I wasn't sure what time you wanted to head out, so I thought I'd get here on the early side. I've been passing the time with these fine folks," he said, nodding to the Khajiit, who seemed all too amused at Narja's annoyance.

"Then have you already made arrangements for our travel?" she said, more sharply than she'd intended.

"Indeed I have." Brynjolf pointed to the loaded cart and tethered mule waiting patiently on the road. "Toss your bag in the back, and we can set off now."

She could feel her tail twitching as she stowed her travel gear. Normally she wouldn't have given it much thought, but every Khajiit in the caravan was able to clearly see how annoyed she was. Narja was glad that her Nightingale hood hid her flattened ears, as well as shading her eyes from the fairly mild glare of the sun.

The elderly Khajiit who led the caravan climbed onto the front of the wagon and clicked the mule into a slow amble. The rest followed on foot.

"Y'see, lass," Brynjolf said, putting an arm around her shoulder as they walked through the farmland surrounding Whiterun, "the trick is to drink plenty of water before you go to bed. And I had a bit of an advantage last night. After you left, I got into a drinking contest with that bard. Of course, he didn't know that he was drinking very potent wine, while I was drinking water." He smirked as he held up a rather garishly embroidered purse, dangling from a neatly cut string. "Now he'll think of me every time he sings 'Ragnar the Red.'"

Narja couldn't help laughing. Her mood lifted steadily as the caravan trundled across the countryside, as she remembered why she enjoyed traveling with her fellow Nightingale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took ridiculously long to finish, and it's ridiculously short. The next chapter should be longer, and will probably be posted sooner. No, I don't know how that works either.


	5. Some Khajiit Expressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation among traveling companions is traditionally one of the more popular ways to relieve the boredom of a long road trip.

There was only room for one to ride on the wagon. That honor was given to Ri'saad by the dual virtues of his venerable age, and by the fact that he owned the wagon and everything in it. 

"Also, he is this one's s'rajik." The rust-furred Khajiit made a graceful gesture to indicate herself. "AS well as being Khayla's employer, and Ma'randru-jo's uncle. So we each owe him an individual debt, as well."

"Your s'rajik?" Brynjolf asked. He tried imitate the Khajiit's pronunciation, but winced as he heard how badly he mangled the word.

"Ah... you would perhaps say, hmm, instructor." Atabah smiled at him and flicked her ears, making the tiny silver rings in each jingle quietly. "He teaches the customs, correct words, and landscape of Skyrim, and assists this one in making trade contacts. He hopes that one day I will discover a new source of gold, and then he will provide funds and goods to lead my own trade caravan."

"I see," Brynjolf replied. "I think a closer word would be sponsor, then." 

"This one is not familiar with that word."

"It's similar to how we recruit new members for our guild." Brynjolf waved to the cart ahead of them on the cobbled road. Narja was somewhere in front of the cart, taking a forward guard position. "We don't just grab people off the street and expect them to know how things work from the start. Usually, the person doing the recruiting also explains how things work, introduces them to other people in the guild they'll need to know, and sets them up with a job or two.

"The boon," he continued, "is that newcomers learn the business from already established members. It helps them find their feet faster, and gives the rest of us an idea of what they'll be good for and how well they'll fit in. And if they screw up, the other members of the guild can talk to the sponsor, who can usually set things straight one way or another." He grinned at the Khajiit walking beside him. "The bane is that the person doing the sponsoring becomes responsible for the new member... and if the new member turns out to be a complete waste, it'll also tarnish the reputation of the person who helped them get in the door."

Atabah chuckled. "It is a good system, I think. It encourages members to choose their students wisely, yes?"

"Indeed it does," Brynjolf said. "The last one I recruited--second to last, that is--ended up a complete disaster. That was years ago. I finally had to put out a Black Hand contract on him, then worked my arse off salvaging my own reputation in the guild. I decided I'd never sponsor another protege again. It didn't seem worth the risk, and I was... hesitant to trust my own judgement on the matter, after that mess."

"Second to last?" Atabah asked. "You changed your mind?"

"I met Narja." He paused, searching for words to explain something he didn't completely understand himself, but the Khajiit chuckled again and nodded.

"That one walks with Rajhin's blessings."

"Is Rajhin your name for Nocturnal?"

"Not at all." Their discussion turned easily to comparative religion.

A short distance in front of the cart, Narja was having a much less pleasant conversation. Although she enjoyed the opportunity to speak in her native language, she was finding the subject and tone of the discussion infuriating.

"Believe me, I understand the hardship of surviving by any means in this inhospitable land." The white-striped Khajiit curled his lip. "But is it really necessary for you to attach yourself to one of these furless barbarians so--intimately?" There was no mistaking the carnal implication behind the word.

Narja snarled, reminding herself yet again that killing Ma'randru-jo would probably destroy the Thieves Guild's partnership with Ri'saad, and therefore lose their extremely profitable access to the Khajiit trade caravans in Skyrim. "He is not my mate," she snapped. "He is a trusted business associate."

"Oh, is that the full extent of your relationship?" the Khajiit asked in a grating mock-innocent tone. "By the set of your ears and whiskers when you talk to him, we had all assumed that you two were consummating Mara's blessings every nightfall." 

Sharpened claws flashed past his nose. Narja crouched in the road, tail lashing, as she growled deep in her throat.

"You wish to challenge me? How charming." The male Khajiit paused for a moment, then shook his head and smirked, walking right past her. "Unlike you lawless dar'renrij, civilized people in Skyrim do not engage in blood duels over mere words." He half-turned his head, addressing her over his shoulder. "Do let me know if you can think of a clever response by the time we make camp."

Narja stared after him, her jaw clenched hard enough to make her teeth ache. As the wagon approached, she moved to the side of the road, then fell into pace beside it. 

"This one would be happy to pay you ten gold pieces for scarring his nose." The dark-furred Khajiit in heavy armor grinned at Narja, who flicked her ears but couldn't help smiling back.

"Khayla, you should not be offering gold to injure my nephew," Ri'saad said mildly.

"It is certain others have offered more to deliver greater harm," the Khajiit warrior replied. "He makes no friends, and little enough gold. Were you burdened with him as punishment for some crime?"

"In fact, yes." The caravan leader looked at the two walking beside his cart and gave a wry half-smile. "You would not be surprised to learn that he has left no friends behind him, either. He was caught attempting theft once, and accused of it a second time. Since it was known that he made the first attempt, and since nobody really liked him anyway, the second accusation was taken as fact. My sister sent him to Skyrim, to me, hoping I could make some use of him, or that travel in distant lands would dull the sharp edge of his tongue." Ri'saad shook his head. "Neither of those things has come about. Only two days ago I informed him that if he drove away another customer, I would drive him out to wander the wilds alone. I do not think he believes me, but we shall see."

The wagon rolled along in relative silence for a while. Narja's ears twitched as she caught fragments of the conversation between Brynjolf and Atabah behind her. They laughed about something, and she imagined the Khajiit putting a hand on his arm, their heads leaning together as they smiled, sharing a private joke... whiskers twitching, Narja only barely managed to refrain from looking back over her shoulder.

"So..." Khayla looked over at Narja, ears perked inquisitively. "Is your relationship with your partner strictly business, or can you indulge my curiosity on what it's like to bed one of the furless people?"

"If there's anything you can tell me, I would appreciate it very much," Brynjolf said. "I get along with her fine, but sometimes I get the feeling that I'm missing a lot."

"Much of Khajiit feelings are expressed in the ears, whiskers, and tail," Atabah said. "Some people say we have few expressions, but they just do not know what to look for. In general, ears and whiskers forward and a still tail indicates calm interest. A gently twitching tail usually points to boredom or irritation, especially with relaxed whiskers and half-lidded eyes. Our ears will flick back," she said, moving her own ears to demonstrate, "in surprise or anger. If surprise, whiskers are forward; if anger, whiskers will be back, and the tail will lash. Ah--I see your companion is demonstrating that expression at this moment."

Brynjolf looked up, his eyes widening slightly. He couldn't hear what the Khajiit in front of him were talking about, but the two on foot were making sharp gestures at each other, while the one riding in the wagon seemed to be having a coughing fit. "Uh... on a scale of one to ten, lass, how angry would you say Narja is now?"

"If one is not at all, and ten is extremely?" Atabah peered ahead and shrugged. "Perhaps--eight?"

"Nocturnal save us," Brynjolf muttered, already moving forward. "Excuse me, I think I need to..."

The Khajiit waved him on. "No pardon is needed from this one." She watched him jog up and exchange a few words with Ri'saad, then hustle Narja off the road and vanish into the brush. Hastening her own pace, she caught up to the wagon, looking over her companions. The caravan leader was still shaking with laughter, and Khayla also seemed quite amused. 

"Are you two taking up Ma'randru-jo's game of insulting and driving off customers?" she asked with mild annoyance. She had been enjoying her conversation with the Nord.

"They will be shadowing us near the road, and will camp with us tonight," Ri'saad said, smiling serenely. "Trust your s'rajik, Atabah. Besides, I made sure that they paid in advance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turned out, this chapter is not only much longer, but also took me much longer to post! On the other claw, my Muse has been kicking me in the head a lot lately, and she's wearing the steel-toed boots of inspiration, so I suspect more will be coming along sooner than later.


	6. Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a land of ice and snow, the cold itself can be just as deadly as a bandit's arrow or a dragon's bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: very mild sadomasochism, minor wounding/blood, implied masturbation

"When I said this day couldn't get any worse, I didn't mean that as a challenge!"

Brynjolf knew it was futile to argue with the gods, but he couldn't help mumbling curses as he hefted his companion's inert body. Fortunately--the one piece of good fortune in the course of the entire wretched day--he'd spotted a hunter's lean-to just a little farther along the canyon. But as he staggered closer, he let out a disappointed groan when he saw that its stash of firewood had toppled directly into a muddy rivulet. 

"Lass? Stay with me, now," he said as he ducked under the leather stretched across the entrance of the tiny cave. He heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that the packed dirt floor was clear and dry. His brow furrowed when he set the limp Kajiit on the cold ground without any movement or sign of response. "Narja? Lass, wake up." He pulled off her leather hood, then paused. In the gloomy twilight of a rainy evening, it was impossible to tell if her skin was pale under her black fur. Gingerly pressing one of her ears between his fingertips, Brynjolf cursed to find it nearly as cold as the armor she still wore.

Remembering lessons of wilderness survival from his childhood, the Nord pulled blankets from their backpacks. Hers was wet from the spill she'd taken earlier. He tossed his dry blanket over her body, then used a handful of arrows to clumsily pin the wet blanket up over the entrance of their little shelter, blocking out what little light was left of the dim, watery day.

With the entrance as secure as he could make it, Brynjolf rolled Narja over, spread the blanket on the ground, and then began unfastening her armor. "I really hope you live through this, lass," he muttered as he clumsily stripped the sodden leather off and carefully stacked it in the far corner. "And if you do, I really hope you don't gut me when you wake up." 

After removing his own gear with the exception of his undertunic and shorts, he rolled her limp, furry body on top of his and tucked the blanket around both of them, then tugged his cloak over the top of the little pile. He wasn't sure what to do about her wet fur, but it seemed to be only mildly damp. He folded her hands between his on his chest and rubbed them gently. "Narja? Wake up, lass, come on." Though the Kajiit did not respond, she'd started shivering again, and Brynjolf dimly remembered that as a positive sign.

Lying in the darkness, he tucked her hands between her chest and his, then wrapped his arms around her to rub her back. "I'd heard you'd been fighting dragons, but... I had no idea." He spoke quietly into her ear, trying to rouse her without attracting attention from any wild beasts that might be lurking outside. "And here I thought coming with you to tour the holds would be a little vacation from running the Guild. But of course we would have to be waylaid by stupid bandits who wouldn't take the sensible option of a Guild payoff, and of course fighting them gets the attention of not just one, but two of the gods-damned beasts!" Brynjolf squeezed her tightly, pressing his face onto the top of her head. "I knew you were something special when I first laid eyes on you, but I never could have imagined what I saw today." His voice caught in his throat, choking on deeply conflicting emotions of fierce protectiveness and awestruck reverence at the Kajiit's deadly prowess. The fight had been a blurred, chaotic mess. At the end of it, they'd been the only two left standing among the corpses of the highwaymen and two enormous dragon carcasses.

Panting, bloodied, rain-soaked, struggling to stay upright, Brynjolf had gaped as the dragons' flesh dissolved into brilliant light that whipped past him to coil around Narja's body, with the sound of a tremendous, rushing wind. For a few seconds she'd been obscured in a glowing cloud too bright to look at directly. When he'd wiped the rain from his eyes and could see again, all that was left of the dragons were two smoking piles of bones. She knelt between their skulls, one hand resting on each in a gesture of sorrow and respect, before approaching him and healing his own wounds.

"I thought after that we'd have to be all right--we must be pretty close to the city. But we'd lost the road, and then you slipped over that waterfall into the river..." He sighed, staring up into the darkness. "I could tell something was wrong when you didn't respond to my stupid teasing. And then you started to stagger, and fell over. And... here we are. Wherever this is." The Kajiit was shivering harder, and he rubbed her arms and shoulders briskly. "I grew up as a hunter's kid, but after living in a city for a decade--and a bit--I thought I'd never have to spend another night sleeping out in the cold, hiding from wolves. Shows what a fool I am, I suppose." 

He paused, then let out a deep breath as he realized that he could hear a faint purring rumble coming from the Kajiit's chest and throat. "I do wish you'd wake up, lass," he said, then stifled a yelp as he felt claws digging into his chest.

"Rrrr... Brynjolf?" Narja's voice was vague and sleepy.

"Yes, lass?"

"Ah... this dream, again." She nuzzled into his shoulder and wrapped her legs around his thigh. "Cold... you are so warm, softskin. Rrrr, so warm..." Her voice trailed off into mumbling in her own language. Brynjolf sighed and stroked the back of her head, his eyes drifting closed, until he realized that the Khajiit was rubbing her hips slowly against his leg.

There was no mistaking what was happening, but Brynjolf had no idea what to do. As Narja's rumbled murmurs and purrs grew louder, the movement of her hips against his leg also became faster and more urgent. He gasped as her claws flexed, lightly breaking the skin of his chest. It didn't help that he had been fighting down his own attraction to her ever since stripping her armor off in the tiny shelter. Gritting his teeth, he tried to think of something, anything, to distract himself, but his imagination refused to let go of the image of what little clothing remained between them gone, her fully awake and aware body wrapped around him.

"Rrrr, don't... wake up yet..." 

Without any warning, the Khajiit turned her head sideways and clamped her jaws around his throat. His entire body twitched as Brynjolf suppressed the urge to throw her off of him. He still had his arms around her, and he considered grabbing the scruff of her neck and pulling her head up, but with Narja's firm grip on his neck it didn't seem like a good plan. It felt to him like she was trying to hold him in place. Her hands were still wedged between their two bodies, claws kneading his chest, and her purring was interspersed with small demanding yowls. 

Gingerly, Brynjolf tried to move Narja's body a little off to the side, with a faint hope that she would roll over and off. Instead, she clamped down harder with her teeth and claws, and he felt the claws on her feet digging into the blanket under his legs as well, anchoring her firmly in place. "So much for that idea," he wheezed, wincing.

The movement seemed to have distracted her on some level, though. Her jaws dropped away from his neck as she lowered her head, nuzzling up under his chin and licking once or twice. Brynjolf bit his lip as her body relaxed on top of him, her breath evening out as she slipped deeper into sleep. It took a while longer for him to catch his own breath. 

With her damp weight lying on top of him and the memory of what had happened--or almost happened--still fresh in his mind, Brynjolf doubted that he would be able to sleep any time soon. He sighed heavily and fidgeted around a little, trying to adjust to a rock poking into the middle of his back, then gave up.

The ache in his neck where Narja had bitten him and the sting of her scratches on his chest weren't helping in the slightest. It seemed that every time he shifted, or even breathed too deeply, something rubbed against something else and gave him a little jolt of pain. And rather than finding his minor wounds annoying or uncomfortable, Brynjolf was deeply confused to discover that they seemed to be making him even more painfully aroused. He'd occasionally heard about people who enjoyed "rough stuff" in bed, but he'd never thought of trying any such things himself. Now he couldn't stop thinking about the feeling of her sharp teeth on his throat, or the way she had used the claws on her feet to pin him to the blanket. 

"Oh, lass... what have you done to me?" he whispered into the darkness. The only reply he got was a quiet snore. He gave her a gentle squeeze, then decided to try balancing the Guild accounts in his head, a job that had always made him drowsy back in the Cistern. A few minutes later, he was fast asleep as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> indeed I am writing and posting more often! hey--anybody wanna be a beta reader for me? I sure could use one. also hey--if you like the story, please comment! praise and attention are catnip for writers. the more I get, the more productive I am.


	7. False Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All the gods and daedra must be laughing at us."

Narja woke up completely disoriented. It was dark in her house, and it smelled damp. She felt a momentary flash of annoyance at Lydia, who really had nothing better to do and should have fixed the leak in the roof months ago. It was strangely difficult to get out of bed and walk to the stairs--she felt slow and heavy, as if under the effect of a time-slowing spell. She teetered on the edge of the open stairwell for a second, then fell face-first to the stone floor.

Her body twitched violently as she woke up again. She could dimly see a wall of unfinished stone, less than a foot from her nose, and caught a glimpse of something underneath her--something pale, rounded, and warm. What could that be? Ah... of course. She remembered that she'd laid down to nap in one of the streams that flowed with warm water out of the sulfur pools of Eastmarch. The warm dampness was the river flowing over her, the pale thing under her a rock worn smooth by the passage of water. She was lying face-down, but her head was turned, elevated out of the flow by a rock that she was using as a pillow. Still, something was bothering her... some small ache. Now that Narja was paying attention to it, the ache was sharper, a stinging pain in several places--her ears, fingertips, tailtip, and toes. Suddenly a slaughterfish darted up the river and bit her toe.

She twitched again, forcing her eyes open. Narja hated being caught in the loop of false wakenings that Vaermina used to trap sleepers in her realm. Such dreams always left her feeling groggy, lethargic, and vaguely unfulfilled when she finally did wake up in truth. Now she could smell wet leather and stone--and Brynjolf, quite clearly. He was unusually fastidious for a Nord, and she had rarely been in his company when he wasn't wearing his leather armor, so it was strange that his scent was so strong. Of course, they had been traveling together. They must have stopped to set camp, and... she realized her hand was touching bare, furless skin. 

This time, when she twitched her claws dug into the chest underneath her and Brynjolf yelped, almost in her ear. Her body went rigid, ears flat against her head. In the burst of adrenaline, her head cleared enough to get an accurate impression of her surroundings--lying on top of Brynjolf with his arms wrapped over her back, neither of them wearing armor, under a blanket, in a tiny leather-roofed shelter on the ground, against a rock ledge. Also, her ears, fingers, tailtip, and toes were stinging and tingling violently, as if they were being gnawed by poisonous ants.

Narja forced herself to relax, as much as she could. "This one... does not think she is dreaming any more," she said carefully in their common Cyrodilic language. "Uh--no, I'm afraid you're not, lass." With her head pressed against his chest, Narja could feel the rumble of his voice as easily as she could hear it. 

"And I trust there is a good explanation for this--arrangement?" she added, relaxing a bit more. She trusted Brynjolf, probably more than she'd trusted anything since coming to Skyrim. Besides, he evidently wasn't wearing any armor right now, or holding a weapon. Of course, she wasn't either--but a Khajiit with her claws intact is never unarmed. "We fought dragons... was I burned? My ears hurt."

"Just the opposite," Brynjolf said. "Have you ever had frostbite?"

"I have been warned of it, but have protected myself against it--until now, I am guessing." She pushed herself up on one elbow, still lying sprawled on Brynjolf's body, and winced as she rubbed her fingertips together gingerly. 

As she shifted position, he removed his arms, tucking them awkwardly into the blankets at his sides. "Aye, well, a tumble in an icy river does wonders to get the process started."

Slightly annoyed at the sardonic tone of his comment, Narja looked down at Brynjolf. He wasn't looking her in the eyes, but instead seemed to be searching a spot just above her head. It took her a moment to realize that in the darkness of the tent on a completely overcast night, the human was effectively almost completely blind. 

"You should probably use some of that healing magic on yourself, lass," he continued, unaware of her observation. "If your ears hurt, that's good--it should mean they aren't too badly frozen. When the feeling doesn't come back, well, that's when you know you're likely to lose a bit of ear, or a finger."

"Is that what happens to people who do not have magic?" she asked, as she began concentrating on gathering magical energy for a healing spell.

"Aye, or those who can't afford a healer's services," Brynjolf said, grimacing in the darkness. Remembering the stories of his childhood and hearing the note of bitterness in his voice, Narja wondered which member of his family had lost something to frostbite.

On the verge of releasing the spell's energy, Narja paused, her nostrils flaring. "You smell of blood," she said, peering at Brynjolf in the darkness. "And your neck--what happened?"

"Ah... well, y'see..." Brynjolf fidgeted with the blanket. "You'd passed out, and while I was, uh... warming you up... you weren't entirely in your right mind," he said, his tone apologetic.

A quick series of realizations flashed through Narja's mind, almost causing her to lose the spell entirely. Gritting her teeth, she made one last concentrated effort and released the healing energy over both of their bodies. In the warm golden glow, she could clearly see not only where she'd bitten his neck, but also the lines of scratches on his chest that peeked through the tatters of his shirt. The spell's light was evidently enough to let Brynjolf see her as well, as he caught her gaze and gave her a weak smile. "I'm just glad you aren't trying to kill me now, lass," he said, as the healing spell completed its work and faded away, leaving them in darkness again.

Narja dropped her head onto his chest. She knew he couldn't still see her, but she wondered if he could feel the burning heat of her blush. "I do not believe I was trying to kill you at that time, either," she mumbled. Not if her half-remembered dreams were any indication...

"That was, uh, the impression I got at the time." Brynjolf took a deep breath, and for some reason Narja was surprised that she could hear his heartbeat quickening. "Nothing happened, I promise. I mean--nothing, uh..."

"This one understands." Narja felt a slight lessening of tension in his muscles. "Did... you want... something?" she asked, her voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

"To, uh... happen?" Brynjolf swallowed. "Not--with you not being, uh--awake." 

"This one can promise that she is awake now."

In the darkness, she could feel his body tense, and he carefully slipped his arms around her back again. She raised herself on her elbows and leaned forward slowly, watching his face. His heartbeat was speeding up again as well. She wondered what it would be like to kiss a face without a muzzle... Narja froze abruptly at the realization that the sound she was hearing was not Brynjolf's breathing.

They both held their breath for a long, tense moment, before Brynjolf whispered, "Maybe it's not--" He was cut off by an unmistakeable huffing sound.

Ears flattened and tail twitching, Narja growled, "I am going to make a pair of bearskin boots out of that animal." 

"We're both almost naked, it's pitch black, and our weapons are all in a heap next to us," Brynjolf whispered urgently, his arms tightening across her back. "It's probably just passing by, and I'd rather avoid a fight right at this minute."

Narja forced herself to relax. Although she was confident that she could kill the bear, given the circumstances it wouldn't be an easy fight. "Better to leave it alone," she agreed, feeling Brynjolf heave a silent sigh of relief as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Sunrise will come soon, though."

"If it's still around by dawn, we'll handle it then." Brynjolf nuzzled the top of her head for a moment, then let his own head rest on the ground again. "We'll just have to wait it out."

In tense silence, they strained to hear the bear's movement. After a few minutes of scuffling around, there was the sound of something large thudding onto the ground with a deep grunting sigh. It snorted a couple of times, and then its breathing evened out to a slow rhythm.

"All the gods and daedra must be laughing at us," Brynjolf said, his voice barely a whisper in Narja's ear. "It's gone to sleep." Her ear twitched, brushing across his nose, but there was no other movement. "As have you," he added, mouthing the words silently. He smiled, giving her a very gentle squeeze as he resigned himself to waiting for the sunrise.


End file.
